The War of the Worlds: Battlegroup Charlemagne
by H.G.Wells
Summary: The year is 1898 - Britian lies in ruins under the Martians - the coast is now the frontline. The French decide to assist and do battle with the Martians for the first time, and send the Naval Battlegroup Charlemagne - but will they fare any better?
1. Chapter 1: Departure

**The War of the Worlds – Battlegroup **_**Charlemagne**_

**Chapter One - Departure**

Under a crushing onslaught from a completely unstoppable foe, even the mightiest and proudest of nations loses whatever massive amount of confidence and hope it previously had. Such was the state of Great Britain during the Martian invasion. Before, they considered themselves omnipotent, the master of the Earth, capable of anything. Now, they were just barely able to survive against an enemy of low numbers, but incredible power.

The minor victory over the Martians at Weybridge was only a brief morale boost, quickly crushed when they swept into London. Only one had been killed, partly due to a careless mistake by that Martian, which had charged straight into an artillery barrage. But now the Martians had stopped making mistakes. They were reaching the coast – and now Britain's last line of defence was not inland, but on her shores. The Royal Navy was desperately trying to prevent a Martian breakout over the channel into mainland Europe, and to secure the passage of refugees onto the continent. They found the Martians to be more vulnerable at sea, though not by much. The bravery of those such as Captain Sir Robert Lacy-Stephenson of HMS_ Thunder Child_ led to some minor victories, but it would be only a matter of time before the Royal Navy was completely destroyed. Due to its diminished state, British ships were now resorting to low-intensity hit and run attacks, before going into hiding in deep water, where the Martians could not reach them. As for the army, much of it was in disarray, most units deserting and resorting to banditry just to stay alive. Other units remained loyal and hid in the Scottish highlands and the Welsh mountains, only emerging to lay mines. As for the civilian population, much of it was massacred and lawless. Society itself was breaking down on the British isles. Martian final victory was looming.

Taken all this into account, it was clear to all that this mighty nation was reduced to ruins. It was therefore not surprising that Britons such as Mrs Elphinstone and indeed, the British government in exile to the North, hoped and believed that foreign nations would come to their aid, and fare better against the Martians.

Across the channel, people on the continent felt the pain and suffering of their English brothers and sisters, and were determined that their armies go to England to join the fight. Mass demonstrations occurred in Berlin, Madrid, Paris, Vienna, Brussels and even in the United States supporting such a move. The War had seen only sparse fighting outside Britain, where six of the ten stars from the red planet had landed. Another two had landed outside Paris, but had been dynamited by the alerted French army. Another had landed in East Prussia, but had met a similar fate at the hands of the German army.

The Tenth cylinder landed between Moscow and St. Petersburg. This time the Martians had been able to emerge and wreak havoc in Russia, but had been stopped from advancing on the two cities. The Russians had put up a brave resistance, encouraged by the Tsar himself, who bravely remained in the capital to organise the defences. Mounted Cossacks lured the Tripods into well laid minefields. Three Tripods had been destroyed this way, the limit that a cylinder could carry, but at the cost of heavy casualties. Luckily for the Russians, that cylinder had also not been carrying any black smoke canisters. But the heat-ray prevented any assault on the cylinder, and had massacred a courageous but foolhardy Cossack charge against the Martian's encampment in Russia. So the Russians kept it under siege, bombarding it with inaccurate long-range artillery fire. As a result, the situation in Russia was a stalemate – neither side was able to defeat the other completely.

Despite the limited level of action in Europe, and the demands of their people, the leaders of the foreign nations though it wise to keep their troops on their own soil, while sending humanitarian aid to Britain. They would be ready to defend it if the Martians broke out from Britain, or if they managed to land more cylinders. Reports of Martian flying machines reinforced this view – the Martians had about two in operation, according to sketchy reports. But many military men in these countries sympathised with their peoples. One of these men was Admiral Francois De Grannes of the French navy, commander of the Channel Squadron of the Northern fleet.

"It is bad business, my friend" said he. "The English are our fellow men. Surely we must help them, and show that the French are an honourable people, coming to the aid of their former enemies against this alien threat?"

He had been lobbying the President of the French third republic Felix Faure to send a naval squadron, possibly with some ground forces, to assist the British. He had been doing this ever since he heard of the Martian destruction of Weybridge. The amount of casualties the English had suffered, and the ruthlessness of the Martians, appalled him greatly. His lobbying became fiercer when London fell. But still the president preferred to "wait and see". De Grannes had tried to persuade him that since the Martians were advancing on the channel, there would be no time to "wait and see". But it was to no avail. At that moment, he was sitting down at a meal in the naval base at Cherbourg. His fleet was sitting in port, still waiting for the order to deploy to the English coast, which he desperately wanted to give. With him was his deputy, Vice-Admiral Jean-Paul Dominique. Dominique understood and sympathised with his superior, but was cautious about any deployment against the Martians.

"They seem to repel any kind of attack thrown against them. They only seem to be harmed when they are defended against. Perhaps the best thing to do is to let them come to us. We know that warships do not last long against them, given what happened to the _Thunder Child_."

"I think you are wrong, Jean-Paul. If we remain on the defence, they will break us with time. An enemy can only be weakened if you take the fight to him. Besides, it would be an honourable cause to at least ensure the passage of refugees to France. That man Lacy-Stephenson was a truly honourable man. He destroyed three Martians – three! At the cost of his own life and the lives of his crew. They were all brave men, and saved many innocent lives. Every man on board the _Thunder Child_ should be awarded the Legion d'honneur, and every other honour of every nation of the world. They were true heroes of humanity. If only we had men like that in our government."

The Vice Admiral could not think of any way to argue against this. Deep inside, he agreed with every word. But as a military man, he had to obey orders, even those he detested. Besides, given how much the British armed forces were devastated by the Martians, it was doubtful that the French or anyone else would fare much better. Just then there was a knock at the door. Admiral Des Grannes answered.

"Enter!"

A junior naval officer appeared at the doorway.

"His Excellency the maritime prefect of the Northern fleet wishes to see you."

Des Grannes excused himself and left the table, heading down the corridor to the maritime prefect's ornate office, permitted entry by two sentries at the door. He entered, the two exchanged salutes and the Admiral sat at the prefect's desk.

"You wished to see me, Excellency?"

"Yes Admiral. It seems your wishes have come true after all."

He handed him a telegram, which was addressed directly from Paris. It instructed Des Grannes to prepare a Battlegroup and head for the coast off Folkestone. He was speechless. The prefect continued.

"The Martians have encircled a large British army on the Folkestone coast, along with over two million refugees and local civilians. There is a large fleet of civilian craft taking those refugees to Pas des Calais. The Martians are getting closer to the position. And if Folkestone falls, they may be able to cross the sea and invade Calais. So the army is planning to send troops across the channel to assist the British. Marauding tripods have attacked refugees and other crossing ships, and made both the evacuation and reinforcement of the coast difficult. You are to assemble a Battlegroup to secure the channel, protect the refugees and our troops and prevent the Martians from overrunning the coast and crossing the channel."

The Admiral was stunned. He had been pleading constantly for a chance to fight the Martians. Now he would get it.

"You may choose your ships, but you are limited to two battleships, two cruisers and eight destroyers. We need ships in reserve, to protect our own coast. Any questions?"

"May I announce my choice of flagship?"

"Of course."

"I wish to take the battleship _Charlemagne_. She is not yet commissioned, but her sea trial performance has been excellent. I wish to commission her now for battle."

"You wish to put one of our newest and most advanced vessels at risk?"

"It's the best chance we have against the Martians. She has two large guns fore and aft in large turrets – they could rip apart one of those tripods from long-range. Her rangefinders are up to it."

"Very well. Against my better judgement. What other ships do you request?"

Eventually Des Grannes came up with a complete task force. The _Charlemagne _would serve as his flagship, and would be accompanied by the heavily armoured battleship _Bouvet_ – that ship would be able to take a lot of punishment, even from a heat-ray. The two cruisers would include the armoured cruiser _Dupy de Lome_, which could do 23 knots – vital in evasive action and hit and run attacks. Her companion would be the armoured cruiser _Amiral Charner_. The eight destroyers would be equipped with mines, torpedoes and light guns. Des Grannes felt that more ships were needed, but he would have to make do. The government didn't look like it was going to compromise any further. It was a death or glory mission, but Des Grannes was prepared to do it. The prefect gave a final word.

"You have two hours to prepare Battlegroup _Charlemagne_ for voyage. Godspeed."

All round the docks, the chosen ships were loaded with ammunition and supplies. Shells were stocked into magazines, torpedoes threaded into their tubes, mines stacked on the rear decks of destroyers. Captains gave motivational speeches to their crew. Naturally there was fear of what they were about to face, but all were eager to fight for the survival of mankind, to assist their fellow men and deliver a blow to the alien invader. The crews worked furiously to ready their ships, and soon the fleet was ready to leave. Admiral De Grannes took his place on the bridge of the _Charlemagne_, which had been hastily comissioned moments ago. He had volunteered to lead the group himself. Vice Admiral Dominique was given deputy command, and joined his superior on the bridge. The Admiral gave the first order.

"All ships – prepare to depart!"

One by one, they all left the Cherbourg docks – eight destroyers, _Amiral Charner_, _Dupy de Lome_, _Bouvet_ and finally _Charlemagne_. As soon as they were in deep water they got into formation – the four capital ships inside a ring of destroyers. Battlegroup _Charlemagne_ then headed along the English Channel, to an uncertain fate.


	2. Chapter 2: First Blood

**The War of the Worlds – Battlegroup **_**Charlemagne**_

**Chapter Two – First Blood**

Admiral Francois Des Grannes was seated at the head of a conference table in the Admiral's quarters onboard the battleship _Charlemagne_. He had called a briefing and council of war with all commanders of the ships in this small but potent task force. By now they were sailing well up the channel, on a course for the south-east English coast. Luckily, they had come across a spell of channel fog, which would keep them safe from unwanted attentions. Launches had raced between the _Charlemagne_ and the other ships in the Battlegroup, bringing all captains to him. They included Captain Pierre Dumont of the battleship _Bouvet_, Captain Maximillian Bruges of the armoured cruiser _Amiral Charner _and Captain Jacques Mitterrand of the high speed armoured cruiser _Dupuy_ _De Lome_. Also present were the eight commanders of the destroyer escorts assigned to the fleet, as well as its deputy commander, Vice Admiral Jean-Paul Dominique, and the Captain of _Charlemagne_, Philippe Domain. The Admiral delivered his briefing calmly, without holding back any details or possible danger – and this mission was flaunted with danger.

"Reports from Britain do not provide a clear picture, but we know that they are using their black smoke extensively. Large parts of the country are covered in their poison cloud. Be wary of this. They may try to spread it over the channel to France, and it will be up to us to stop them if they do. But our prime task is to support our forces and British forces in Dover and Folkestone, as well as the refugee fleet. Both militaries are covering the Exodus, and may be forced to withdraw from England based on current reports. Therefore, the prime task is to secure that area of the channel, and stop the Martians from crossing.

"Don't underestimate them. We know that they have trouble dealing with warships, but the _Thunder Child_ was still completely destroyed by their heat-rays. Keep out of their range if possible, and if you engage them, don't waste time – destroy them before they can return fire. We have accurate guns and rangefinders to ensure this, but you must stay alert at all times. I want everyone at constant battle alert. We don't want them to catch us unawares. In turn, we must not be detected. Wireless use is forbidden. Communication is to be done by means of light signals only. Does anyone have any questions?"

There were few. Nearly everyone had absolute confidence in the Admiral. After all, he had served with distinction during the Franco-Prussian war, when he commanded an ironclad warship. He had survived a fierce battle with two Prussian warships. His ship suffered light damage while the enemy had lost both their ships – a minor victory in a disastrous war. He was a capable and calm commander, and everyone trusted him. He accepted questions with good grace, and answered them with accuracy and attention to detail.

"Do the British have any warships protecting the coast?"

"Originally they had two ships in the area, a battleship, HMS _Renown_, and a cruiser, HMS_ Indefatigable_. They were protecting the refugees from four Martian machines. _Renown_ managed to shoot down two of them, and ram another, but was sunk by the fourth. The _Indefatigable_ managed to shoot off its heat-ray gun, so it withdrew. Coastal artillery has managed to hold off further assaults, but they won't last much longer. When we arrive, _Indefatigable _should still be there to help us protect the coast."

Then Dominique asked a question.

"What about this so-called Flying machine sir? We don't have any defence against that."

This caused a number of murmurs and mumbling. That new Martian invention would pose a huge obstacle if set lose against them. Admiral Des Grannes needed to calm their fears.

"So far, it has only been seen attacking with black smoke, which doesn't work over water. It therefore has no way of attacking us. According to reports from English scouts, it doesn't fly far from London. We should not have much to fear from it. Any more questions?"

There were none. Every captain had confidence in his Admiral. To end the meeting, Des Grannes gave a short speech.

"When we enter battle, remember the men of the _Thunder Child_, their sacrifice, their courage. Think of how they gave their lives for their fellow men, how they died in the fire that engulfed the invaders. Let our first shots be in their memory, and may we fight with the spirit of the _Thunder Child_!"

Everyone cheered, but just then a young lieutenant knocked on the door of the wardroom. He was let in, and promptly saluted the officers present.

"At ease" said Des Grannes. "What is it you wish to report?"

"Sir, one of the destroyers has sited two fighting-machines, far astern to port."

"Have they seen us?"

"No sir. The channel fog has kept us hidden, but we managed a brief glimpse of them. What are your orders?"

"One step at a time. Firstly, all officers return to their respective ships!"

The captains did so, scurrying back to their personal launches, which hastily returned to their ships. On the bridge of _Charlemagne_, Admiral Des Grannes worked over a tactical map, as he planned his opening manoeuvres in his first battle with the Martians. What he really feared was the infamous heat-ray. How long was its range, and could it be aimed and fired at targets that could not be seen by its operator? There was nothing that anyone had been able to do to effectively challenge such a weapon. But Des Grannes' military mind soon sprang into action, and produced a thought.

_If we cannot face them openly, we can fight them through other means._

He turned to Captain Domain.

"By our calculations, we should still be ahead of them. Tell all ships to plot a course that brings us straight ahead of them. We should still be able to maintain a good distance from them; they make slow progress through water."

The formation changed course to the Admiral's orders. Then he gave new ones.

"Order the two destroyers furthest astern to unload their mines – make sure there is a good minefield waiting for the enemy."

The destroyers laid their mines silently. The mine anchors landed on the sea bed and played out cable that held the explosive head floating near the surface. The minefield was almost finished when Vice Admiral Dominique stepped in.

"Sir, we know that they are still behind us, but will they follow the same course? They may bypass the minefield altogether."

"Well spotted my friend, but I have already anticipated that. Order the _Dupuy De Lome_ to hold position in this area. Then send her the following orders while we steam ahead."

Captain Mitterrand watched nervously as the rest of the fleet left him alone, steaming off into the fog. He hoped that the Admiral knew what he was doing, that the Martians had not seen them or their light signals. His ship held position, her stern facing the newly-laid minefield. He hated being used as live bait, but that was the way it had to be. He was waiting for the time when he would perform the action he was ordered – it was calculated to be performed when the two Martians were close enough.

He almost felt that he could see them, moving through the fog, on the hunt for any terrestrial ships that they had seen. He felt the nerve-racking sensation of an animal being hunted. All of his crew felt the same. The seconds ticked by, until the hands on his watch. Finally matched the ordered time.

"Fire!"

The order was given, but it was not a gun that the _Dupuy De Lome_ fired, but a bright crimson flare. which formed a tremendous glow in the fog that could be seen for miles. The crew on the deck of the cruiser then heard strange sounds in the fog.

"Aloo, Aloo, Aloo! Aloo!!"

A chill ran down their spines. They remembered the tales of English refugees in France – what they had heard was a Martian call, for want of a better word. No one understood what this strange hooting meant, but there were generally assumed to be signals, battle orders, perhaps even hunting calls. The Martians were coming, and the crew would have liked to have fled immediately, and let the mines do their work. But their Admiral had ordered them not to withdraw until the Martians were sighted – they could only be lured into the mines if they were pre-occupied in a chase. It was the same tactic used by the Russians.

Sure enough, two huge blurry shapes appeared astern of the cruiser. The shape was unmistakeable – the three flexible legs, the metal cowling from where the Martian controlled the machine, the flailing silver tentacles, and the dreaded generator of the heat-ray. The Captain immediately barked the arranged order.

"Now, Ahead flank!"

The fastest ship in the French navy, the _Dupuy De Lome_ could reach a top speed of 23 knots. Originally designed for commerce-raiding, she was perfect for this kind of mission. She retreated swiftly, and the Martians were in pursuit. Captain Mitterrand prayed that they would strike the mines before they could use their heat-rays.

Then the lead Martian raised his heat-ray box. The dreaded hissing beam smote from this, but the aim was poor and it struck wide to starboard of the zigzagging cruiser, created a column cloud of hissing steam that rose from the sea. Captain Mitterrand took advantage of this inadvertently created smoke screen, and was obscured from view.

Suddenly, an explosion knocked the first Martian of his balance. The Tripod reeled, its hood and legs crumpled. The massive machine then hit the water, creating a huge jet of boiling water, steam, wreckage and brown fluid. The second Martian seemed stunned at the destruction of his comrade. They did not seem familiar with sea mines, and this one evidently believed some hidden attacker was responsible. It fired its heat-ray in all directions, and several shots were unwisely directed at the water. The mines that they struck instantly detonated. The resulting explosions and boiled water created a destructive, scalding swell, which toppled the Tripod to its doom. It did not explode, like the first, but fell into the water and sank out of sight, its cowling flooded.

Captain Mitterrand watched the destruction with satisfaction from a safe distance, having now emerged from the steam. His crew and officers cheered at their victory. The Martians were not invincible, one way or another, humanity would win this war. They were prepared to sacrifice, they were prepared to accept some defeats, but they would never surrender – not in the face of an inhuman enemy.

Then one of the lookouts in the crow's nest shouted something.

"Look there! Yonder, yonder!"

In the place where the water had been writhed by the demise of the second fighting-machine, something could be seen writhing and struggling in the water. It reminded Captain Mitterrand of the old Scandinavian illustrations of the Kraken, the tentacled monster of the deep. It was a brown smudge in a grey ocean. It looked wounded, bleeding brown fluid into the waters. Mitterrand knew that this could only be the occupant of the second machine – the other was presumably dead. This one had managed to escape when his hood had been flooded as his machine sank. He knew precisely what to do next.

"Bring us alongside him. Tell the Maxim gunners to fire once we are in range." He said this coldly, without emotion. There was no empathy could possibly be shown.

The _Dupuy De Lome_ steamed towards the struggling Martian, as the Maxim machine gunners eagerly loaded up fresh rounds. It was time for some sweet revenge.

The Martian soon came into full view. It regarded the approaching armoured cruiser with grey, blank eyes. It panted in the swell, waving its tentacles in a desperate attempt to swim away. But the gravity that had always restricted its movement held firm. It wailed its cries of alarm, perhaps fear, perhaps even for mercy. But though it had a similar appearance to a drowning sailor, no effect touched the gunners' consciences, or that of their Captain. This monstrosity and others had been responsible for so much human pain and suffering. The French sailors had heard plenty of tales of what the Martians were doing in Britain – the killings of the unarmed and unthreatening, the mass gassings of whole cities, the ruthless destruction of civilisation, the hunting and caging of humans like animals. They were not about to spare a single Martian that could not swim away from their guns.

The Maxims rattled and roared, and their gunners shouted in delight as burst after burst of their fire tore into the helpless victim, ripping the bulky head-body apart. The fleshy beak let out shrieks and cries of pain. The stream of brown fluid became a vast river, then a pool, and then a large slick. The Martian let out one last cry before it stopped moving, and closed its eyes for ever. It turned over in the swell…and sank out of sight.

The _Dupy De Lome _sailed away from the brown slick, without remorse or regret. There was no reason why either should have been felt by her crew. This was not an ordinary war between the tribes and nations of mankind. This was truly a War of the Worlds – no empathy could be felt, nor could mercy be shown on either side. A human enemy could be related to, felt for, and even admired, but an inhuman one could not. One world, one species, was fighting for its very existence against another. They could not afford to show mercy or compassion in a war for their right to exist, as they might have done in a normal war. That was the way it was – every man in the Battlegroup accepted that.

The cruiser rejoined the rest of the waiting fleet. Once the formation was restored, they left the site of the first skirmish, onward to the place of the greater battle.


End file.
